


Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

by litra



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Case Fic, Clint Barton Jumps Off Buildings, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha is a profeshonal, Phil in a dress, Pre-Movie(s), Strike Team Delta, or in this case airplanes, under cover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8675692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra
Summary: Team Delta case fic. Nat, Phil and Clint go on what they think is a standard easy mission. Everything proceeds to go wrong. It’s a good thing they’re the best at what they do.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megankent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankent/gifts).



“The mission,” Coulson said, sending the appropriate files to their data pads.

“Should you choose to accept it,” Clint interrupted in a low voice. 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but it was halfhearted at best. She’d been working with the two men for just under a year and Clint had made the same joke at least a dozen times. 

They were in a small private plane, an hour from the Florida key where the mission would take place. She’d already gone over the file, but Coulson liked to be through, even on a milk run like this.

Coulson went on, ignoring the interruption, “is to infiltrate the new year's celebration being thrown by Vincent “Vice” Wallace.” Coulson finished fiddling with the connection and a picture of the mark flickered to life on the TVs built into the backs of each of the seats. He didn’t look all that impressive, sure he had a strong square jaw but it was undercut by the fact his eyes were clearly unevenly set in his face. The unflattering way his sandy brown hair was receding didn’t help either. 

“Mr Wallace specializes in high end import export.”

“Translation: drug runner, and arms dealer.”

This time Coulson was the one to roll his eyes. “Actually he spechalizes in things a bit harder to acquire. While the island he owns is technically part of the United States, it might as well be it’s own domain. Everyone on it either works for him or is his guest. Because of the private runway he’s able to hold and move things such as paintings and other small high end items without trouble. Naturally the local authorities know this and everything coming off the island and going into the United States goes through a strict customs evaluation, at Mr Wallace’s insistence, but while it’s on the island and as long as the satellites can’t find anything suspicious he’s in the clear.”

“So, middleman, rather than arms dealer,” Clint said, this time more seriously.

“Correct,” Coulson caught the edge of his seat as they hit a patch of turbulence, then checked his watch. They still had plenty of time.

“Natasha, you’ll go in as Marie Slelane. Your family is from eastern Europe.”

She nodded, “World War two art relics?”

“Exactly.” Coulson nodded, “Your goal is to get close to Mr, Wallace under the cover of asking him to move them for you. Once you’re in, find where he’s holding things on the island currently and retrieve the package,” He flipped through the files again and a silver case the size of a small carry on bag appeared. “This case holds an 084 recovered by a SHIELD agent in Jamaica a week ago. The agent reported the successful collection, but the package never arrived on base. Luckily the internal tracker is still active and as far as we can tell, the case hasn’t been opened. The 084 gives off radiation in the ultraviolet spectrum when exposed to carbon dioxide. Any questions so far?”

“Come on Coulson, we know what we’re doing. This will be a cakewalk, Nat goes in, works her magic, I provide useless backup, and we’re all home in time for the breakfast special down at Teddy’s. Hey I heard they added a super cinnamon bun to the menu, want to split one when we get back?” Clint lowered his voice so the last sentence came out as filled with innuendo as he could make it.

“You eat far too many things that are bad for you.” 

Natasha had learned that the little tic at the corner of Coulson’s mouth actually meant he was supremely pleased, and he wanted to take Clint up on his offer, both the spoken and unspoken one.

“You love it,” Clint crowded.

His next words were interrupted by another bout of turbulence. They all braced themselves and waited for it to pass. 

“We going to have to worry about a storm?”

Coulson shook his head, “the storm’s already passed, this is just the dregs.”

Clint nodded, it wasn’t like he couldn’t shoot in a hurricane, but even he’d have a hard time hitting his target with winds that unpredictable, as it was, he’d probably have to switch to a rifle if this kept up.

“I’ll be on coms, Natasha, if you need us to pull you out Clint will be three minutes out.” They all nodded even though no one thought she’d need an extraction, or even a distraction. Natasha was a master, they all were.

 

The plane arced over the villa, a low sprawling building that sat atop a man made hill to lift it above the cypress trees that circled half the island. The other half was white sand beaches a dock that was obviously to big for an island that small and the runway they were aiming for. The small plane banked one last time and they all braced for landing.

  
  
  


When they had come to a full stop, Natasha stood, smoothed the wrinkles out of her sleek black dress and did one last check of the pins in her hair and the derringer on her thigh. She smiled at her team, The same smile that had entranced hundreds and sent hundreds more to their deaths. 

Clint let out a wolf whistle as she walked to the door. Coulson retaliated with a sharp look. He was far to professional to actually say anything, at least not out loud where others had a chance to hear it. He’d keep it to the reports. 

The pilot opened the door for them, waiting for the rolling stairway to be brought over. There were four other airplanes already settled by the hanger, but it seemed most of the guests would be arriving by ship. The path from the docks up to the main house was lit up by strings of arching white and blue lights. It bleached out the white stone of the path and the light wood of the building leaving the greens of the lawn and forest to go dark until the landscape was a study in contrasts. The bright dresses of the women and the silk ties of the men escorting them, were the only splashes of color.

Natasha stepped out onto the top stair and froze. It was only a second, but the others both saw it. Clint snapped his mouth shut on his next smart comment. The next moment she was turning and thanking the pilot, then stepping aside, as if getting a bag out of the cabinet by the door. They could see it the second she was out of sight of the door, her shoulders stiffened and her expression twisted with fury and frustration.

“Natasha?” Coulson’s voice was steady but he had a matching tension in the line of his neck.

“The man from India, blue tie, next to the woman in the gold dress.”

“The one with the scarf?” Clint asked, leaning back to glance out the tinted windows.

She nodded, “His name is Liam Johar. He’s the COO of a firm out of New Delhi that provides power and phone services for half the country. He was one of my last targets before I signed up with SHIELD. I spent four days seducing him to get into his systems, so no there is no way he won’t recognise me.” 

  
  


Coulson clenched his jaw.

“I could shoot him?” Clint offered.

“No, that would draw too much attention.” Coulson growled. He rubbed briefly at his eyes, then his shoulders straightened and he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “I’ll go.”

“The hell with that!” Clint shouted over Natasa’s quieter, “The cover identity is for a woman.”

“There’s no one else.” Coulson said as he stood and retrieved his bag from the overhead compartment. This particular bag was mat black with a light blue tag and Clint had only seen him open it  two other times. The first had been when a mission early in their career had gone completely FUBAR. He’d pulled out a full satellite phone kit and a handful of grenades. The second time Coulson had pulled out a map of the London underground and a burner phone which he’d used to confirm reservations in a local hostel that he’d made a few weeks prior to the mission. This time Coulson ordered the pilot to Taxi around for ten minutes, while he took the bag and disappeared into the tiny cabin bathroom.

Natasha, seemed resigned to whatever he was planning and took Coulson’s seat. She booted up the coms program and started doing checks on the equipment, her own version of fidgeting. Clint ran his hand over the strap of the case that contained his bow, then went to deliver the order to their pilot. He took a moment to wave away the two confused attendants who had wheeled over the staircase. The pilot took his time taxing them down the end of the pavement and turning them around. By the time they were lined up to take off again Clint was flexing his fingers over an invisible weapon.

Coulson came out of the bathroom in a dress.

It was shocking enough that for a moment Clint forgot they were on a mission, forgot they were in enemy territory and Phil was going to walk out there into the metaphorical lion’s den. Phil, and damn it he shouldn’t be thinking of him as Phil, but he couldn’t help it, Phil was wearing an indigo dress, purple so dark it nearly glowed. He was wearing a brunette wig that feathered down around his face making it look softer and more feminine. He’d never be a beauty, but the way he’d done his makeup, god just the fact that he was wearing makeup. It made his lips more flush, his eyes brighter. He was clean shaven already, but now his skin was glowing with a soft blush.

Clint liked Phil. He knew he wasn’t subtle about it but Phil had never said anything and Clint did tend to flirt with a lot of people. Natasha knew. At least he was pretty sure Natasha knew. Natasha knew most things. The point was that no matter how often he told himself that he’d accepted the situation, Phil still managed to blindside him. That was one reason he tried to call Phil, Coulson, even in his own head.

He might have just asked Phil out and chanced it, except he didn’t know if Phil liked guys.

Natasha looked up, then pursed her lips. “You need earings.” She pulled her own gold dangly things from her ears and unclipped the phoenix pendant from around her neck.

Phil accepted them with a quiet, “Thank you.” Then he paused hummed a few bars and said it again. This time it was softer, somehow more feminine, while still being Phil.

Phil, Damn it, Coulson clipped on the accessories and turned to the door. He passed Clint by inches and Clint realized those inches weren’t only in distance. Coulson was taller. Clint glanced down and saw a pair of glittering black heels and dark stockings.

Dear god he was in so much trouble.

The next second Coulson was gone, down the replaced steps and off across the runway.

“You know it’s not wrong to think the heels make his ass look good, that is what they’re there for,” Natasha said.

“I wasn’t, I--”

“Wasn’t looking or wasn’t thinking his ass looked good?”

“Naaaaaatttt,” Clint whined. “Come on, you can’t think this is a good idea.”

Natasha considered for a brief moment. “Well he certainly can’t pull of the seduction that I was planning, but I’ve seen worse impersonations of the opposite sex. He didn’t go for an overly large bosom, which is good. Even the small chest piece he’s wearing will throw off his balance, no need to exacerbate the issue. The cut of his dress works better for his shoulders in any case. The low back was a nice touch. I wonder if the same tailor who made his suits designed it.”

And now Clint was not only thinking about Phil’s ass, he was thinking about his shoulders and the line of his back. He wondered if Phil had scars and how he’d explain them away.

He was jolted out of his head when the plane started picking up speed. He dropped into a seat as they took off. The plan had them circling three miles out, ready to fly over if Natasha, now Coulson, needed backup.

Clint went for the parachutes.

  
  


~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Phil stepped off the plane and made his way with confident steps up towards the house. He hadn’t expected to need this particular backup plan, but he had a reputation for always being prepared for a reason.

It had been a while since he’d been in the field as someone other than himself, so he used the walk to fix his new persona in his mind. Marie Slelane was an identity he’d helped Natasha create, so he knew it backwards and forwards. The woman was a sister, a dutiful daughter. She’d had a miscarriage before devorcing her first husband. Now she looked after an estate and several holdings. She was past the days of partying but still liked to dip her toes in the water when it suited her.

Phil added a swing to his step and smiled at the doorman as he asked for her name.

Inside, the house was high ceilings and out of season flowers. Music was playing, a quartet in one corner of a covered courtyard that was otherwise being used as a dance floor. The guests were of all nationalities, and Phil heard a dozen languages before he’d made it to the bar.

With a glass of champagne in hand Marie circled the party. There were nearly as many servants as guests. There were the servers and entertainers, and then guests had brought their own translators and attendants.  Phil made a note of it in case it came up later.

Natasha checked in with him every fifteen minutes. He danced with a few men who were younger then him by at least ten years. He ignored Clint’s dry commentary. After the first ten minutes of near silence Phil had asked Clint for his sit-rep and since then it had been near constant complaint about how he hadn’t gotten a chance to dress up and eat nice food. There was still a note in his voice that had Phil worried, but in the field was no place to dwell on it.

Eventually it got late enough that Phil was ready to escape the party and get back to the mission at hand. Most of the patrons were drunk, and with twenty minutes to midnight, everyone was starting to gather on the terrace. There was going to be a fireworks show at the strike of midnight, a perfect distraction. Almost too perfect, but he couldn’t afford to let it go by without grabbing it.

He made the nearly silent clicking in the back of his mouth that told the coms he wanted to talk to Nat, then sub vocalised while pretending to sip his champagne.

“I’m about to get taken to the back.”

“Roger that, proceed.” Natasha said, while Clint grumbled in the background.

Spilling his drink on his host was far too predictable for his taste, so instead he made shure he was in the man’s sights before bumping into a waiter. The young man was good, he wobbled but managed to catch his balance and only a bit of champagne spilled from the glasses he was carrying. Phil had been hoping for the whole tray to go over, instead he had to drop his own glass.

The waiter apologised.

“Oh no, it was my fault,” Phil replied in his fake voice. The thin crystal of the glass had cracked into a handful of pieces and even as the waiter was assuring him that they’d get someone to clean it up, Phil bent. One of the shards sliced along the outside of his left hand, splattering red onto the floor to darken the spilled drink.

“Oh hell,” Phil said, still in his false voice. In his ear, Natasha could be heard typing furiously.

That was when his host finally made his entrance.

Mr. Wallace was dressed in a charcoal gray pinstriped suit and a red tie that made his skin look flushed. “Is there a problem here?” he asked in a steady deep voice.

Phil waved a hand, pretending not to know who he was at first, “Just a bit of a slip up.” He looked up from the stain on his dress, “ Oh, Mr. Wallace. I’m sorry, I’d been meaning to find you, but I’d hoped to make a better impression.”

“Nonsense, a beautiful woman can never make a bad impression. But it seems you have the better of me.”

“Marie Slelane. I believe my people have been in contact with you.”

They shook hands, “Of course, Marie, Lovely to finally meet you. Perhaps I could have someone help you clean up before we discuss business?”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”

Mr. Wallace waved over a young woman in a maid’s uniform, and instructed her to take Phil to one of the guest rooms. As they left the party, Phil made sure the camera in the necklace Natasha had lent him was recording everything.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Phil was a professional. It should have been easy to watch him waltze around the party, but for some reason it wasn’t. When Phil spilled his drink and spoke to the mark, Clint wanted to snatch him away. He had to consciously stop himself from clenching his fists and growling.

Natasha gave him a look once Phil was in the clear. “Clint.” This single word was a warning.

He got up and headed to the back of the plane, checking the parachute and his bow for the seventh time. The thing was, she was right, and he knew it. In any other mission…. Hell, they’d had missions that were planned out almost exactly like this, Phil going in, Natasha and him on backup. Except back then it had all been part of the plan and well, it was terrible even thinking it, but Phil hadn’t been in a dress. It probably had a lot to do with his unorthodox upbringing, but he’d always had a thing about protecting girls, women. When he’d first mentioned it to Natasha she’d dragged him to the gym and sparred with him until it had been beaten into his skull that she didn’t need his help. Phil, well, Phil was an excellent agent, but most of the time he was on coms, not in the field.

And damn it he was calling Coulson Phil again.

Everything would be fine. This was textbook.

Then Natasha started cursing in Russian.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Phil mentally cursed himself, even as he slammed the door and broke the lock. The maid inside was still screaming though it sounded more like sobs at this point. He hadn’t had a choice.

It was a rookie mistake. He’d been lifting his skirt to get at the kit in his garter when she’d come in with towels for his hand. The cut had already closed, but she didn’t know that. He should have locked the door, made sure she was gone at the very least, but he’d been too focused on the door he’d spotted down the hall, the one with the keypad and palm scanner.

The girl had seen more than either of them wanted and started to scream. He’d tried to get her to quiet down, but she’d gone into the bathroom and locked the door. His only choice was to waste time trying to keep her quiet, or hope no one noticed the sounds from the hall. He shoved a chair under the ruined handle to the bathroom just as an extra precaution, and stuck his head into the hall.

There was another server, a young man coming down the hall. He had a concerned expression and Phil immediately stepped out to meet him.

The young man barely had time to say, “Is everything alright?” Before Phil lashed out with an uppercut that knocked the wind out of him. The kid gasped and Phil grabbed him in a headlock. It wasn’t hard to pull him back into the room, while cutting off most of his air. The kid passed out, just as Phil got him to the bed.

When he stuck his head out a second time, the hall was empty. Phil made a beeline for the door with the extra security. He was fighting the clock now. Party or no party, someone would notice two people locked in a room sooner rather than later.

 

The keypad was easy, or would have been if it wasn’t connected to a palm scanner. Again, if he had had time, or if it had been Natasha… But he didn’t and she wasn’t. He opted on breaking the lock. If the alarms weren’t going off already, then that would do it, but he was already counting the minutes so what did it matter.

After double checking that no one was coming down the corridor, opened the kit from his garter. Phil took a torch to the hinges, prying the box from the wall and cutting the wires one by one. On the fourth wire he got lucky and with a hiss of air the door opened.

The hallway beyond was white and professionally stark. There were doors alternating on either side each clearly labeled. Unfortunately those labels were things like storage room 2 so they weren't very helpful for Phil's purposes. In addition they all had an extra layer of security to them. This time just a key but he didn't have time to pick each individual lock on half a dozen doors. Especially not when those locks were twelve tumbler, double metric, germain manufactured out of tungsten steel.

“Natasha, can you get into the security feed? I could use a little direction down here.”

“Checking now,” she said in his ear, and after a minute started cursing in russian. “Anything older than twenty four hours is kept on a different server. Without knowing exactly when they brought in the 084 it would take hours to transfer and then search through the video files.” She paused and there was angry typing with Clint in the background asking if he needed to go in. “No Clint, I will tell you if you need to jump out of this plane. Phil, best I can do without more time is the recent access logs. Storage room two was open this morning. Storage room 7 and 8 were open yesterday.”

“Got it, two, seven and eight.” Phil  stepped up to the door marked number two. He briefly wished for the mini-explosives that R&D was working on to blow apart locks. Instead he had to fiddle with the earrings turned lockpicks. Again he didn’t bother to hide the evidence of what he was doing, gaining a second or two at the expense of scratching the case.

It wasn’t the right room, that was obvious as soon as he opened the door. The room was lined with paintings, held under what was clearly museum quality security, environment controlled glass cases and the blink of infrared sensors.  

Phil went for the next door and gave it the same treatment. He’d just managed to pull the door open, when the guards appeared at the end of the hall.

Phil yanked open the door, using it as a barricade as at least one of the guards opened fire.

“Coulson?” Natasha asked in his ear, but he was too busy to answer. One shot, two, and a pause. Coulson didn’t wait to hear the ultimatum that he knew was coming. He swung the door at them, rolling into the room, as he threw the only thing he had to hand, his lockpicks, as a distraction. The door slammed shut and he put his back to it. He was panting. Was the door thick enough to stop bullets if they fired from point blank range?

Phil only had a derringer and a few small blades, nothing that could hold off more than two or three men. He hadn’t even gotten a glimpse inside the room. What did he have to work with?

He finally managed to kick his mind back into action just as a dry british voice said, “Well, you’re not who I was expecting, but who am I to say no to a beautiful woman.”

For a moment Phil’s heart stopped then he took a breath and gave a bland smile to the contractor, “Hello Hunter, I’ll make sure to put that in my report.”

Lance Hunter was a contractor who skipped around working for a dozen different organizations, and always wearing out his welcome. Phil had only met him once, on a joint operation back when he was still with MI6. As far as Phil could remember Hunter hadn’t ever worked directly opposing the interests of SHIELD, but his knowledge was a bit out of date.

Currently Hunter was sitting at a metal table. His hands were under the table and Phil gave it a 40% chance that he was hiding a weapon. Behind the table was a set of shelves blocked by mesh fencing. The shelves were empty apart from the SHIELD briefcase.

Natasha was talking in his ear, “Hunter? Is that a first name, a last name, or a title. I can pull up their file, come on Phil talk to me.”

Coulson had to ignore her. Behind him the guards were banging on the door, and arguing.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hunter asked as if Phil was wallowing the day away picking daisies.

“What side are you on?” Phil would have liked to ask who he was working for, what he had been hired for and a number of other pointed questions, but he didn’t have time.

“Well not them, who did you think chained me to this table?” Hunter jostled his chair from side to side and and pulled at his wrists. He couldn’t lift them higher then a few inches and Phl managed to glimpse the shackles.

Well that answered that.

“I lost my lock picks.”

Hunter let his head fall back and groaned.

Phil made the executive decision that they didn’t have time for this.

“Can you kick that table over here?”

It took a few tries, and each minute that Phil had to brace the door against the continued pounding took a year off his life, but Hunter managed it. The table fell over and Phil managed to wedge it against the door.

Hunter giggled the handcuffs again, “Any idea for these?”

It looked like the handcuffs were looped around the chair which was sturdy wood and heavy enough that it wouldn’t break easily.

“I can shoot the arm of the chair…” Phil offered. Hunter winced but nodded. He had to angle his little pistol away from Hunter’s body, which put him nearly in the man’s lap, but a minute later they both had nasty splinters, and could move.

“Right, please tell me you have an exit strategy,” Hunter said. He pushed the dangling cuffs up his arm so they would stay out of his way.

Coulson half nodded and touched his ear, “Natasha? I have the case and we have an extra asset to extract, can you get Clint in the air?”

Natasha’s voice sounded almost apologetic. “He took the parachute when he heard the first gunshot.”

  
  


~~~*~*~*~*~~~

  
  


Clint hadn’t realized it, but he’d jumped out of the plane just as the countdown to midnight had passed six. Five seconds later the air around him lit up in red and gold, completely ruining his night vision. He desperately clutched his bow case, trying to keep on course while idly wondering if the dark parachute would be visible to those below. Then again, Coulson had already set off the alarms, so he figured he could scratch stealth off the list of objectives. Then his parachute caught on fire and the point was kind of moot.

Hitting the ground sucked. He managed to roll out of it and he had plenty of experience but that kind of sudden impact would never be a walk in the park. It also came about ten seconds before he was expecting it, so it wasn’t really his fault if he looked like a drunken sailor when he tried to get back to his feet.

Someone was shouting but his night vision was still shot so all he could say about them was, probably a bad guy. Clint swung his bow case around at shoulder height, then dropped and kicked out in a leg sweep. He hit someone with the second attack and there was a thud and a gasp. He used the spare moment to open the case and snap his bow open.

His vision was finally coming back so he glared down at the guy in a servant’s uniform. He was about to start in on the important questions, like where the hell was Phil, except the wind picked up. His parachute may have still been on fire, but that didn’t stop it from trying to drag him off the roof. Clint scrambled for the release button, hitting it just before he would have topped over the edge.

On his knees, he managed to finally take in the fact that yes, he was on the roof of the main building. He was in fact on the edge of a space that might have normally been a patio, but was currently serving as a fireworks launching station. The goon he had downed actually had a set of gloves and goggles, so at least the bad guy was safety conscious, good for him. It also meant that the fireworks guy wasn’t alone.

Clint raised his bow and snagged two arrows at once. He fired the two shots one after the other as the two still standing goons charged. He might as well have been on the shooting range. The arrows went exactly where he put them and the two guys went down with fletching sticking out of their shoulders. The third guy he kicked at almost offhandedly, just to make sure he stayed down.

“Clint,” Natasha’s voice in his ear was almost a surprise. “Coulson found a friend and they need an evac from the north wing. They’re pinned down so make it fast.”

Clint looked around, taking in everything around him.

At times like this he didn’t think, thinking only got in the way. More than once the analysts had screamed at him in frustration over his crazy plans, and how on earth he’d come up with them. Phil didn’t yell at him because Phil understood that they worked and most of the time that was all that mattered. Besides, no one actually prepared for things like using fireworks to blow up a roof so it always caught the enemy off guard.

He only needed one of the big launchers, tipped on it’s side and aimed at the appropriate section of building. He gave Coulson a thirty second warning, before it went off like a cannon.

 

~~~*~*~*~*~*~~~

  
  


The roof disappeared in a shower of purple and white sparks, taking half of one wall with it. Phil had been huddled with hunter under the table, they managed to avoid injury, but Hunter still cursed up a storm. He wasn’t used to Clint’s improvisations. At this point, they only made Phil smile.

“Blasted fuck, you call that an exit strategy,” Hunter finished, sticking his head out to judge if they could actually use the hole in the ceiling or not.

“Feel free to find your own way out,” Phil offered. He casually crossed to the shelves. The mesh case had been bent out of shape so he could easily retrieve the briefcase he’d come for. Being SHIELD issue, it was completely undamaged.

Clint had one of his grapple arrows stuck into the roof by that point, and he fed the rope down to them. Coulson let Hunter go up first, mostly because he was still in a dress, but also to be polite. Clint caught his hand as he reached the top, and helped him over the edge. Phil started to thank him, then stopped. Clint was blushing and adamantly refusing to meet his eyes. That was new.

“Great, what now? We steal one of the boats? Knowing you SHIELD types you have something stashed in the marsh?”

Clint looked at Phil.

In a perfect world they wouldn’t have needed any kind of specialized evac, because Natasha would have walked out with the case and no one would have been any the wiser. Phil was well aware that the world wasn’t perfect though, that was why he had his emergency bag, and why he was one of the best operatives SHIELD had.

“Well…”

Hunter and Cint both gave him uncertain looks.

“I do have a backup exit, but the kayak hidden by the east point of the island, but it only seats two.”

“Well screw that,” Hunter said, “There’s no way i’m swimming, there are alligators around here.”

“What then?” Clint asked. “We steal a boat, or a plane. If this guy has any sense he’s shipping off all his guests. There’s no way we’ll be able to take one without being seen.”

“So we mix in with the crowd.”

“I don’t know about you but I’m not exactly in fancy dress.” Clint pointed out. He was wearing his tac vest with the parachute harness still on over it. Hunter only had a rumpled button up. Rumpled in the i’ve been wearing this shirt for at least four days way, not in the I slipped away to have some fun way.

“Clint’s right--”

“See,” Clint interrupted, “Natasha’s still circling, we can have her come round low, and I’ll shoot an arrow onto the plane, then we can tie ourselves together and up we go.”

Phil sighed, “Clint, you need to stop watching Mission Impossible. You’re both overlooking the obvious.” He pointed to the road.

It was true that the road was a bit shabby, and probably not even two lanes wide. It was over a mile until the next island. The file had said that Their host only used it for getting supplies onto the island. There was one guard station at the coastline. Once they got past that there wouldn’t be any cover, but there also wouldn’t be any obstacles. Of course they had to get there first.

“Clint, take point. Hunter, you’re rear guard. We head for the bridge.”

  
  


~~~*~*~*~*~~~

  
  


Natasha heard Phil’s plan over the coms. She’d had the pilot circle around, in case Clint actually tried something like what he’d suggested. She had no doubt that they could make it to the bridge. That didn’t mean getting through the intervening space would be easy, or that they could make it without injury.

So she was going to give them a little help.

After all, she’d had all her supplies ready for the mission and she hadn’t gotten a chance to use any of them.

It turned out that Flash bangs, smoke grenades and concussion grenades looked almost like fireworks when they were dropped on a harbor full of boats. She paid special attention to aiming at Liam’s boat just to get a little payback for the whole mission going sideways.

  
  


~~~*~*~*~~~

  
  


It turned out that the road off the island wasn’t a mile long, it was two and a half. Then there was a mile and a half of island where everyone was too busy either partying or ogling the destruction on the neighboring island to help out a couple of strangers. Which meant it was another three mile bridge trip to get in the range of a cell tower on island number three.

Clint was uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. Phil would have chalked it up to the late hour or the exhaustion post mission, but he knew for a fact that Clint had no brain to mouth filter when he was tired, and tended to be even more talkative than normal, at least until he passed out on his feet. The archer was also going out of his way not to look at Phil.

“Is it the dress?” Phil finally asked when the sun was close to rising and Hunter had stomped ahead in determined anger.

“What, no it’s not the dress. You look good, I mean for a chick, not that you don’t normally look good. I mean, you don’t look girly or anything, but you I mean, shit.” Clint babbled.

Phil nodded. “Ah, so it’s the dress.” This time he said it in a more sultry tone, and added a swing to his hips. 

“What? I, ah…” Clint was blushing. Even in the faint dawn light he could see it.

“I can work with that.”

“You, what?” Clint stammered, then the dam seemed to break all at once and words came pouring out. “No. You don’t have to work with anything. I don’t. It’s not the dress. The dress is weird, or just different? Nat and Hunter and even the pilot didn’t say anything. Is that normal? Because you wear suits, and you look really good in your suits, Sometimes I just want to run my hands up the line of your suits, they look that good. And we have a really weird job okay? Because you like this should be a thing. It is a thing. And I know it’s you, obviously but it’s still a thing. And it’s hard enough ignoring your suits when you walk around like soft core porn all the time, but I was not prepared for this. And the makeup, and then the earrings. I didn’t even realize you had your ears pierced. Isn’t that weird? A guy having his ears pierced? And the wig, man the wig just looks weird.”

“I get it, it’s weird.” Phil was more amused than hurt, but Clint still wasn’t looking at him so he didn’t know if the archer could see it.

“It is, okay? I mean I grew up in the circus. There was a bearded lady, but he was trans and you’re not. And I don’t know, everything’s all twisted up. The circus wasn’t normal, nothing I leaned there applies to the real world. I can’t do…” His hands opened closed, flexing around the bow he was still carrying.

Phil was starting to understand that this was really worrying Clint. Weariness aside, Clint almost never brought up his past willingly. He didn’t fixate on things like this, and most of all, weird wasn’t a word that he used all that often. With their jobs and Clint’s upbringing, he had a skewed concept of what others would call normal.

“Clint, what can’t you do?” He asked in a soft calm voice.

“I can’t kiss you.” Clint clamped his mouth shut and stopped walking.

Phil turned to face him.

“Never mind, forget it.” Clint shook his head and tried to start walking again, but Phil stepped into his path. They were close, almost chest to chest and Phil leaned in so Clint didn’t have a choice but to look at him.

“Clint, I’m the one who decides if someone can kiss me, and it has nothing to do with what I’m wearing. You can kiss me, unless we’re on a mission or in the office where it would be unprofessional, and before you ask, I consider this mission complete.”

Clint blinked a few times, “But, wait, you’re not. I mean… You’re straight?”

“I prefer not to have casual hookups. Women tend to expect more of a relationship. That does not mean I can’t appreciate men.”

Clint let out a slow and kind of shaky breath. “Really?”

“Yes.”

From down the road Hunter called out, “Just kiss him already.”

Clint flipped him the bird, but took the advice.


End file.
